Mia Luce
by RFT
Summary: The Light in the Piazza as told throught the eyes of each of the main characters. Just some writing to attempt to do justice to a lovely stage musical and novella.
1. Prologue

Mia Luce

My God – it's an update!!! And she's working backwards… yes, the logic of a procrastinator is most difficult to follow, dear readers, but bear with me if you can! I felt this could be a more powerful opening to this little tale, and hopefully the experience of actually putting pen to paper again will encourage me to finally get Chapter 3 up! Oh Fabrizio dear boy, why did you have to be so difficult to voice?

DISCLAIMER: hats off to Elisabeth Spencer, Adam Guettel and Craig Lucas for delivering this gorgeous story in both it's novella and stage forms.

Prologue: Homecoming

As she stepped over the faded threshold of 142 Eastlake Street, Margaret tried to place the familiar smell of home but found nothing. The stench of Roy's cigars stuck to the wallpaper like obstinate grease to a pan, but it brought out no emotion, triggered no instinctive or natural reaction. A momentary shock followed this revelation and passed just as swiftly, a belated sense of jetlag taking it's place. Every bone in Margaret's body pleaded for release as she placed her luggage at her feet, her designer travel bags a good deal lighter than when she had left for Italy 2 months before. She stood stock still, barely breathing, heavy with the air of a woman whose very soul had sunk in unison with the thud of the bags upon the carpet. Looking about at the furniture and silverware she had once been so proud to own, Margaret took time to consider. No, this wasn't home anymore… had it ever been?

It was impossible to declare that this house held no claim upon her, for was it not here that she and Roy had first shared a bed, where she had watched Clara learn to walk on chubby little legs, and where all their lives had been altered by one meaningless phone call on the eve of Clara's tenth birthday party? The walls of the hallway stood solemn and silent, confining Margaret within the very place in which she'd heard the screams…. She had run from here all those years ago and somehow left an entire life - carefree and joyous and typical - discarded in her wake, flung aside in panic like the butt of her cigarette. Of course, there was no actual evidence of that here, the one incident which had been the focus and informing narrative for all the years that followed it. Photographs of Clara then, plump, pretty and perfectly normal, had been removed by Roy days later, stripped with shaking hands from every wall or album as though they were an insult, or something taboo that must not be seen.

"_Roy! She'll never understand if we start treating her differently! She won't know why things have changed. You can't just take her past from her"_

"_Are you going to be the one to explain it to her then – everything?! This is what's best - this is the only way. She couldn't cope… if we told her anything, she just wouldn't cope" _

Margaret had kept them of course, the photographs, storing them away in her bottom bedside drawer the way she had once done as child, hiding candy bought against orders with her pocket money. When had she last looked at those snapshots of the before-life? When had Roy? Perhaps they had never felt the need, as the genuine child Clara had still been there, residing within her beautiful grown-up body. Clara had a medical condition as yet unheard of in their circle of friends, or indeed anywhere within the township of Winston, Salem – her situation was a scandal due only to ignorance, but still, it had to be kept secret. Their most precious creation was in fact a girl only partly known by her friends; she was living a half-life and she had never suspected a thing… or so they had arrogantly assumed, in that wishful way parents do when desperate to shield their children.

The trip to Italy had altered everything, sending carefully constructed lies shattering in harsh, hot sunlight. As Margaret entered her barren bedroom (so stark and bleak from the lush apartments she had become accustomed to) she began to suspect that she had left her true self behind with her daughter, allowing it to linger a while longer in some sun-drenched corner of a Florentine piazza. If this was the case, if all that she was, or had been for that short time, now remained content and liberated in southern Italy, forever keeping watch on her beloved Clara, so blissfully happy and more accepting in her awareness than Margaret could ever be … well, than she could be satisfied with this. After all, a life of denial and suppression had been removed and forgotten in just a few months …. This 'homecoming' was a heralding of change, though only she knew it.

2


	2. Chapter 1

**Mia Luce **

Hey all! I'm gonna try my hand at writing some little one-shot pieces for what I feel is one of the most beautiful, poignant musicals around at present: "The Light in the Piazza". Each chap will be a different character (but each character will get a few chaps in from their POV) , and will most likely include snippets of dialogue/lyrics from the show. I'm by no means abandoning my Phantom work however!

BTW: "Mia Luce" is "My Light" in Italian

DISCLAIMER: hats off to Elisabeth Spencer, Adam Guettel and Craig Lucas for delivering this gorgeous story in both it's novella and stage forms.

Chapter 1: Margaret: what happened here?

"Mother! Mother – look!" she pointed with unabashed excitement and wonder towards the monument, which loomed imposing and magnificent over the square.

It would be foolish to attempt to calm her – and indeed it would be almost cruel, for what good is a trip to a foreign country if one can't delight in the splendours so strange and out-of-this world to their eyes? Margaret would allow her little Clara these moments of marvel, for goodness knew the sense of joy they afforded them both was few and far between back home.

Home: Winston, Salem. The most unassuming place on earth to house a troubled mind… an uneasy and unstable sense of self and purpose. It was little wonder Margaret had felt the need to run; it was little wonder Roy had been so encouraging of the notion. And indeed, it was little wonder that Margaret had included Clara in all her plans, for she could not – would not, for the thought hurt more than any reality so far thrown at her! - leave her child to dwindle forever in the same place.. everyone needed an adventure, a chance to see and experience new things… most especially Clara. Why should she miss out? Surely this was the best thing for her – for them both. Yes, they would enjoy themselves immensely, soaking in the sights and sounds and smells of Florence, Italy.

Margaret paused for a moment….. yes, this was exactly as she remembered. "_The openness.. the light…_" Memories of sun-drenched days spent touring the city with Roy, the both so carefree and idealistic in their youth and fresh-faced love, threatened to pour in and remind her of just what was wrong with the present picture. The beauty of the place was undiminished, yet she could not look at it the same way – how could she? So much had happened and Margaret had come to learn that experience did nothing except harden the heart to any remnants of hope and possibility.

Suddenly, a voice laced in the girlish optimism she herself once knew interrupted her sombre thoughts. "Mother – what happened here?"

A smile of weary patience and gentle adoration graced the mother's handsome face. Holding out her much-loved guide book, Margaret replied, not without a little of her own curiosity and subdued excitement, "What happened here? Well, let's see…"


	3. Chapter 2

**Mia Luce **

I've decided that if you, the readers, are fortunate enough to have the music to "The Light in the Piazza" at hand, it would be super dooper to read each chap of my little work in accordance with the songs, as some are taken straight out of the moments in which a song appears.

This one of course is directly in sync with "Statues and Stories", and I feel Chap 1 could be read along with "Overture". Just a fun little thought. Thanks to dearest Loz/erik'sangel527 for my first review! Love ya mate!

DISCLAIMER: hats off to Elisabeth Spencer, Adam Guettel and Craig Lucas for delivering this gorgeous story in both it's novella and stage forms.

Lyrics and direct dialogue are written in italics.

Chapter 2: Clara: on vacation

"_On a central square, in a city of the sun, rose a palace…_"

As always, her mother's words had the instant ability to paint a picture of such tangible authenticity Clara often would find herself in need of a pinch or two to the forearm to remind her that it wasn't real. Then again, anything could be possible here…

"_It was high and handsome, gleaming like the crown of a king.._"

Words were all well and good, and imagination even more so, but Clara Johnson wasn't half as keen on simple imagery as her book-bent mother. She sought truth – evidence – and she sought it with blind intensity. And so she queried "_Where would that be? Where is that?_" her blue eyes wandering frantically about the crowded piazza. So much to see…. And the people here – how oddly they dressed! Such fashions as had never been seen at home… and the way they all walked! Clara was uncertain as whether to giggle or applaud.

As Margaret continued with her tales of embroidered history and sentimental local myth, Clara run about as freely as was allowed her. How frustrating her mother could be at times! What good is being on vacation in a place so delightfully alien if she wasn't able to experience it all, every corner, as she wished? Still, best not to be lost – and mother had that wretched book to guide them about.

Anyone observing Clara, as several locals and tourists alike were doing, at that very moment would quite possibly have been struck by two things in particular: the girl's unassuming beauty and grace, and the paradox of her energetic and unrestrained manner. The skirt of her blue summer dress billowed about in the slight breeze as she turned her pretty head this way and that, clearly aching to take in every single sight and unable to decide which was best.

'It's so very extraordinary', she thought. 'I wonder how mother could ever have left…if it were me, I'd want to remain in this place forever'. Sketchbook in hand, Clara set herself upon a bench, where she quickly went to work attempting to depict the delightful old man sitting opposite her. His hat wasn't exactly as she wanted… there – oh! Perhaps her didn't want it moved then. No matter; Clara was content. 'What fun we will have here - oh but if she'll just put that nonsense to rest!' and with a swift and utterly guiltless move she jumped up and whipped Margaret's guidebook out of her grasp. Enough of reading facts and figures of the far-off past "_We're Here!_" And indeed they were; undeniably there .. In '_Firenze_'… "_in a central square, in a city full of statues and stories…_"


End file.
